


What is There To Know About Chompies?

by Tabbyluna



Category: Skylanders (Video Games)
Genre: Casual Ableism, Chompies, Gen, he gets better don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24587440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabbyluna/pseuds/Tabbyluna
Summary: If Wolfgang had to hear about another rare breed of chompy again, he was going to lose it...
Relationships: Wolfgang & Chompy Mage (Skylanders), Wolfgang & Chopscotch (Skylanders)
Kudos: 9





	What is There To Know About Chompies?

**Author's Note:**

> So, first off, I wrote this as a birthday present for someone, so happy birthday.
> 
> Second, Wolfgang's a bit of an ass in this, but he gets better. So don't worry.
> 
> Third, I personally H/C Chopscotch as autistic, but I'm not quite sure how I want to classify Chompy Mage. So it did affect how I wrote this. Hope I did the characters, in particular Chompy Mage justice. And I'm always open to concrit.

If Wolfgang had to hear about another rare breed of chompy again, he was going to lose it. When the Chompy Mage talked about them, he would always rather be anywhere else. Go on patrol, give a boring ‘standard procedures’ lecture to rowdy students, even clean out his pigsty of a room. But when you were a Skylander, you were supposed to be  _ nice _ . And you couldn’t just walk out of duties because you didn’t want to do them. According to his therapy sessions with Hugo, being nice meant that you listened when people spoke about their passions. He told himself he would try, but that did not mean he had to do it cheerfully.

There was a little bit of time Wolfgang had between classes. Usually, he took the time to mark essays. And usually, he liked this period of time in his day too. But this semester, due to some rescheduling, Chompy Mage often had downtime with him too. So while he marked, pressing down hard on his pens and spilling blobs of red ink on his papers, he often had to hear him talk all about chompies.

“There’s a special kind of purple chompy that researchers are hoping to breed more of,” he would say. And that would usually be the amount of information retained. In all honesty, he was barely listening. What he would give for a good set of headphones and one of his classic rock records right now…

Regardless, he tried to pretend to care. Tried to nod and grunt, as if he were really listening. Occasionally he caught a few words. Some scientific terms for certain things, some bits of news about the science of chompies. He planned on someday opening up a conservatory for endangered chompies. But that was all Wolfgang knew. Even when he went further into detail with his plans, it all sounded boring and he would zone out. Mechanically marking his papers. Reading them out loud under his breath.

Then once he was done, he would daydream. Sighing, leaning back against his creaking swivel chair. Taking note of the little things in the room. The flickering fluorescent light just in front of him. How the paint was chipping off the wall, revealing grey cement behind the dull blue. Chompy Mage kept droning on and on, and he drowned him out by wondering what colour he would repaint the walls (onyx black). He thought up a dozen dumb thoughts, but all of them were, in his eyes, better than listening to the Chompy Mage.

Eventually, the clock would strike three-forty, and he would get out as quickly as he could. “Well, it was nice talking to you mate, but I gotta be going now. I’ve got class in a few, catch you later.” 

Chompy Mage would always wave goodbye to him, an oblivious smile on his face. “Say goodbye Chompy Puppet,” he instructed.

“Why should I? It was very clear from his body language that he did not listen to you at all just now when you spoke!” 

Chompy Mage gasped at him. “Don’t be ridiculous! Wolfgang’s turned over a new leaf. I’m sure he would be considerate enough to-”

And the conversation would stop right there. Because Wolfgang knew from experience that things would only get more ridiculous, and there were only so many arguments he could stand hearing between Chompy Mage and his little friend. He closed the door to the staff room, leaving the two of them to fight it out and hopefully kiss and make up later. Rolling his eyes, he walked to the lecture theatre. As if it were magic, all thoughts on Chompy Mage would disappear from his headspace then. Until the next day, where like clockwork he would sit down to mark his papers, and the Chompy Mage would come up to him, over his cubicle, and talk to him about his chompies again.

*****

The weekends were a different story. During the weekends, he usually had some sort of patrol he needed to do, but afterwards he was pretty free. And he usually spent the rest of his time in one of two ways. Sometimes, he would spend the day with his old crew, the ex-Doom Raiders. Going out, having drinks, all that fun stuff. 

But other days, he found himself spending time with Chopscotch. She introduced herself to him on the first day of his new job, one of his old vinyl albums in hand. Nervous and fidgety, she asked for his autograph. And she had offered to assist him with any problems with or questions about the workplace he may have. Overall, a fairly good second impression. Especially since their first meeting was not the best. Frankly, he was just touched that she still held onto his merchandise.

But then they started to actually talk to each other. And he learned about her as a person. She showed him her poetry, and it was  _ good _ . So good, that he was inspired to write a song to her lyrics. The first time he played it to her, she cried tears of joy. Ever since then, sometimes they would meet up for jam sessions. He would strum his guitar, she would spitball lyrics. And sometimes, they would end up with a new song on their hands.

Most of the time, they met at his dorm. Sometimes, they met in hers. And he had to admit, he was genuinely surprised that she had kept all her merchandise, that she  _ owned _ that much merchandise, and that they even _ made _ some of that merchandise.

“A few days ago, I came up with some rhymes,” she told him one day, presenting a piece of torn-out notebook paper to him. “Right over this part, I think it could use some chimes.”

“Chimes?” He repeated. Chopscotch was a great lyricist, but sometimes her suggestions for instrumental accompaniment could be a little out there. Some ideas worked surprisingly well, some didn’t. 

Still, she was usually pretty confident about her musical decisions, so she nodded. “Yup, I was going for an ethereal feel. I think the chimes might make it seem more ‘unreal’.”

He wondered if it had something to do with the concept album thing. She had been talking for weeks about making a concept album. “Right then, let’s see.” He leaned back against his patch-covered sofa. It was a piece of trash, with stuffing leaking out of one corner and dust clouds rising from it whenever he sat on it. But he had attached too much sentimental value over it. Most of his greatest songs had been written on that couch. And it felt wrong getting rid of it, especially since he was writing more songs than ever now. In a way, it was like a strange good luck charm of his. Keep it around, and it would lead to creativity.

“I hope you like it, I tried to make it unique.” She folded her hands behind her back. “And before I forget, how was your week?”

She always asked how his week went. It was sort of like a routine for them. Every time they sat down together to jam, she needed to ask him about his week. Certainly a strange quirk, but he learned to roll with it. Usually, he took the time to vent about someone annoying. Like the lady who spent fifteen minutes deciding on a coffee order. Or the cashier who talked way too much. “Urgh, so-so. Did I ever talk to you about what the Chompy Mage does during work?” He set the lyrics aside, and started tuning his guitar.

“No, no. I don’t believe so.”

“Well, he’s a right irritating presence. Always wants to talk my ear off about his chompies. Usually, I just tune him out, it’s really not worth my time to listen,” he lifted his leg, ready to play. “Anyways, shall we begin?”

But when he turned to look at her, he sensed that something was wrong. Something about the way she stood, the subtle twitches in her expressions, sent him signals that she had just heard something she didn’t like. “What?”

She sighed. “Well, Wolfgang, I hope you don’t mind. But in my opinion, you sound terribly unkind.”

He raised his brows. Chopscotch didn’t usually speak out against him when he vented his frustrations. And though her face was usually more or less unreadable, he got the impression that his comment had made her upset. Her arms folded, and she trotted up to him.

“Wolfgang, I know the man, and I know that chompies are his passion. He’s like me with my rhymes, we love things that aren’t in fashion.” She lifted her arms, and struggled to get up onto the couch next to him. Eventually, with a push from him, she got on. Though he would never admit it out loud, he did think it was cute how short she was. “Now listen here, because way back when I was young, people in my village used to tease me, and that was no fun.”

There was a lot of sincerity in her voice. The way it cracked, the calmness and directness of her word choice. She usually chose her words carefully, thanks in part to this quirk of speaking in rhyme. But Wolfgang had to admit, she did have a way with words. And a way of making him truly think about what she said. “The two of us may be strange and imperfect, but despite that, the both of us do deserve respect.”

“Well, yeah but...” He paused, thinking about how to respond. “But he doesn’t stop talking about it at all. You have no idea how grating that is.”

Chopscotch merely cocked her head slightly to one side, which he supposed was her way of raising an eyebrow. Which she lacked, though she had talked about drawing eyebrows onto her skull occasionally. 

Actually, thinking about it, she was rather weird in her own way.

“Have you ever calmly asked him to stop talking?” She asked. “If not, try to actively listen. Who knows, you might learn something.”

That piece of advice stuck in his mind, even when she left the room after two hours of jamming together. 

*****

The next day, it was time to get back to work. And her advice still stayed with him. To be fair, he thought it was good advice, and he should probably calmly talk to him about it. That was the thing about being a good guy he kept forgetting. He was supposed to communicate his problems with other people now, be cooperative. But she gave him two options with that advice. And admittedly, he had never really given the second option much thought.

Actively listen. What does that even mean? And was there anything interesting to know about chompies in the first place? All he ever knew about them was that they were nuisances, and that their pods should be cleared out before they ate up your house. That was the way most people he knew viewed chompies. It wasn’t like he was wrong about them.

But as he went through his classes, delivered his lectures and demonstrations, and eventually headed into the staff room to mark some more papers, the thought still lingered in his mind.  _ Was _ there anything interesting about chompies? The question sounded less derogatory in his head, and more genuinely curious. 

Then a familiar colleague, one dressed all in green, arguing with his puppet, entered the staff room. And he figured that there was only one way to find out.

“Hey Wolfgang, how was your weekend?” Chompy Mage called out over the cubicle, no doubt standing on a swivel chair so that he could see over the walls. 

“Not bad. Wrote half a song with Chopscotch. She’s been talking about making a concept album together.” She had wanted the theme to be about redemption, and becoming a better person. That girl...

“Oh, that sounds interesting.”

“I do hope you learn how to play something that isn’t complete noise though,” said Chompy Puppet. But Chompy Mage pressed a hand against his uh, mouth immediately after he did. 

“No, Chompy Puppet. Remember what Hugo said! We’re supposed to be better than that now, be nice and apologise!”

“Fine,” spat Chompy Puppet. “Sorry for insulting your music Wolfgang.”

“Apology accepted,” said Wolfgang. And he sucked in a breath. “How about you Chompy Mage? Did you learn any fun facts about chompies in the meantime?”

And the moment he asked, Chompy Mage gleefully told him all the facts that he recently learned. How the largest chompy pod ever recorded was because Kaos grew it to gigantic proportions, but the second largest one was seven feet in diameter and produced chompies ten inches tall and six inches thick. How chompies born in the spring and summer had slightly richer skin tones than chompies produced in autumn or winter. How chompy teeth are used in some parts of Skylands as medicine against burns. And Wolfgang simply sat there and listened. To the best of his ability, occasionally asking questions.

Eventually, he needed to leave. Class was going to start again, and he needed a bit of time to prepare. So he said goodbye to Chompy Mage, who was once again arguing with Chompy Puppet. But this time, when he walked out the door, he only felt a little bit annoyed. Which was a significant improvement. 

And now he needed to make a mental note to thank Chopscotch for talking to him. Because she had her moments of wisdom. Though he never expected that her advice could have someday led to the realisation that maybe chompies were more interesting than he previously thought.


End file.
